


Enough to Be Free

by Whreflections



Category: Kane (Band), Supernatural RPF
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Doctor Jensen, Domestic Violence, M/M, Protective Christian Kane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 22:56:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whreflections/pseuds/Whreflections
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Chris meets Jensen as a doctor in the emergency room, it's the start of something that's nearly enough to drive Chris crazy. Because it's one thing to want to be someone's white knight, and a whole other issue if they don't want to be saved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough to Be Free

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my_sam_dean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_sam_dean/gifts).



> Written a couple years ago for my_sam_dean for the kane_exchange over at lj.

_Well I got a paint outside with enough giddyup to be free  
I got a faint smell of cheap perfume and a hint of gasoline  
See I'm a different kind of knight  
You're gonna find your fairy tales are lies  
I don't have a white horse  
But you can come along for the ride  
-A Different Kind of Knight, Kane_

_  
_The first time they met was in an emergency room. It’s one of those stories that should be funny, and really, it is, but sometimes thinking back on it all Chris can see is the way Jensen looked then, and it’s not so funny anymore. He was the one needing the stitches, but Jensen, _he_  was the one that needed help.   
  
It was fate, a series of semi insane events involving a show, whiskey, him and Steve drunk backstage, some wires and a mike stand. It was the mike stand that prompted the emergency room visit, crashing into Christian’s head with enough force that even he realized that yeah, a doctor was gonna be necessary. Back then especially, he  _really_  hated doctors. But he went, and he met Jensen, and to be honest?   
  
For that, he would’ve split his head open a hundred times.   
  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’   
  
“So, Mr. Kane, it says you’ve…wow.” The doctor had stopped halfway between the door and the table, his eyes flickering up from Christian’s chart to take in the man himself, sitting with his legs dangling off the table, a bar rag pressed to his temple to stem the bleeding. Really, he could have taken it down. He was pretty sure it stopped bleeding somewhere on the car ride over, actually, but Steve had told him he needed to keep the pressure on so he didn’t do something drastic like bleed to death.   
  
The doctor’s eyebrows rose, somewhere between amused and ‘ouch’, and he stepped up to the table, letting the folder drop to hit the paper with a crinkle as he gestured up at the hand Chris had holding the towel.   
  
“Can you let me see?” He nodded, pulling it down carefully and only wincing a little as the towel unstuck itself from the tacky surface of the cut. He tossed it aside, trying to still sit still so the doctor could get a good look. The fingers he could feel pressing against the edges were gentle, though the pressure still hurt. He’d at least mostly sobered up pretty quick right after it had happened…maybe being hit in the head did that to you.   
  
He cleared his throat, speaking softly. “ ‘s it as bad as it feels?”   
  
“Oh I doubt it.” There was humor there, and he caught a flash of a smile as the doctor pulled away. There was blood on the tips of his gloves, but it wasn’t bad. He caught Chris’ eyes then, and even with his head throbbing like a bitch Chris couldn’t help but notice that this doctor looked like he needed one hell of a rest himself. His soft green eyes looked tired, weary in a way that looked familiar and foreign all at once. “I’m Dr. Ackles, by the way. I’ll be taking care of your case tonight, though I don’t think you’re gonna be here long. Just a simple laceration. You don’t seem to have a concussion, so the most trouble this thing’s gonna be is needin’ some stitches.”   
  
“Sounds great.”   
  
Jensen nodded, stepping back to pull off his gloves and toss them in the trash only to pull on fresh ones as he rummaged in a nearby drawer. “We’re a little short on help tonight, it’d be awhile before the nurse could get in here, so I’ll just-“ He gestured with the small tray now in his hand, and he reached up with this other to tilt Chris’ head at just the right angle. “Just hold still. This first part’s gonna sting a little.”   
  
“ ‘s what I fucking hate about doctors.” He didn’t realize he’d muttered it till he already had, the worlds tumbling out under his breath. He felt a little stupid, then, but really, it was just true. He hated doctors and their lies and their avoidance and-  
  
This doctor, he was smiling. “And why might that be?”   
  
Shit. Christian tried to shrug, stopped himself just before he made the jarring movement. There was a sharp pain beside the cut just then, and he hissed a little under his breath as he bit back a vehement ‘son of a bitch!’. “They lie.” It was muttered a little louder, through gritted teeth this time, and the doctor laughed.   
  
“Hey, we have to! You think anyone’d ever get anything done if we came in and said ‘Well this is gonna hurt like a bitch, but I have to do it to you anyway?’ “   
  
Yeah, ok, there was a point there. Maybe. He smiled, just a little. “Yeah, well…” The silence trailed off, uncertain, until the doctor changed the subject.   
  
“So, Mr. Kane-“  
  
“Christian.”   
  
“Christian.” He hesitated, reaching down to rummage on the tray for an alcohol pad, and it was then their eyes met again, just a flicker, but enough that he could feel something in his stomach jerk. “How exactly did this happen?”   
  
“Eh, well, you know…not sure  _exactly_  how it happened, just an accident.” He was pretty sure he remembered, actually, but he wasn’t about to go all over the details, not when they hadn’t been particularly sober at the moment. “Just messin’ around after the gig.”   
  
“So, you’re a musician?” The doctor’s grip changed, enough that he could feel the heat of the pads of his fingers through the latex, distracting enough that he didn’t feel the first tug as the needle broke skin.   
  
Christian sighed, tired not to shift. Being still wasn’t exactly his forte. “Yeah, I am. Country music, mostly, though I guess it’s got an edge of rock and roll.”   
  
He made a soft, interested noise, his eyes flickering away from the stitches to Christian’s and back. “Sounds great. ‘M from Texas originally; I was kind of raised on that stuff.”   
  
“Yeah? Well you should come out, see the show.” Especially because here in LA, they were having trouble drawing a crowd. They were plenty good, this just wasn’t exactly a town that bred country stars, for the most part. Still, they were determined, and they were gonna stick it out. Maybe one day they’d head to Nashville, sure, but they’d be giving LA all they had first. “We’re at this little place not far from here. We play nearly every Thursday, Saturday and Sunday; I could write down the directions for you if you want.” Somewhere in rambling all that out, he realized that he should probably shut up. Well, that, and maybe he hadn’t sobered up quite as quick as he’d thought. Because sure, the man was attractive and he’d hinted he might like the music but still…this was a doctor, and the guy was probably just being polite, and he seriously needed to shut the hell up.   
  
The doctor licked his lips, eyes narrowing. “I’d love to. I just don’t know if…” The needle stilled over the cut, a little hesitation before Chris felt it press through the other side, just as he Dr. Ackles cleared his throat. “My boyfriend hates music.”   
  
The tone of his voice couldn’t have sounded more tense, and it was all Christian could do to keep from stumbling over words to reassure him. Thank God, he managed to sound a little more reasonable. “Dated a guy in college like that. Needless to say, didn’t last long.”   
  
He laughed, an ease to the sound and to the set of his shoulders that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Of course, Chris could understand. Even here in California, most of the time you didn’t want to exactly broadcast if you were gay or bi or anything other than straight. Times were better, sure, but they were still hard, and the responses could be pretty bad from those that had no tolerance. He’d been lucky, to have his family. Being a bisexual teenager in Oklahoma could’ve been absolute hell(and it still hadn’t been a picnic), but he’d had an amazing family who he was pretty sure wouldn’t have cared if he’d told them he’d realized he was actually an alien or something. To them he was just Christian no matter what, no questions asked.   
  
The tugging on the cut stopped, and he heard the tiny clink of metal as the doctor dropped the suture onto the tray before skimming another wipe over the surface of the cut. He stood up and pulled it away, sliding it onto the counter and stripping his gloves before pushing up his sleeves and stepping up to the sink to wash his hands. “I don’t know; it’s been a long time since I’ve been to a concert.” He paused, turning around as he dried his hands on too many paper towels. “Maybe I can drag him.”   
  
“Should come either way, we’d love to have you.” Really, really they would. Every audience member helped. And besides, every time Chris looked at his damn eyes, his head nearly fuzzed out. Maybe he  _did_  have a concussion after all.   
  
Still. He rummaged around in his pocket, pulled out a gum wrapper and swiped a pen off the nearest clipboard to scribble down the address. “Here. Shouldn’t be too hard to find.” Their fingers brushed as he handed him the paper, and that was what really got his attention.   
  
For Christian Kane, there was no one in the world he loved and respected more than his momma. That was important just then, because it was  _because_  of her that he took so much notice. She’d told him once(and probably a dozen times more) that when she’d first seen his dad, standin’ on the front porch talking to her brother, she’d been interested. But it was when he took her hand to help her off a busted ladder than she  _knew_. There was something in it, that first touch, something indescribable and certain, and she’d told him that after that, she  _had_  believed in love at first sight. She’d said that someday, that’d happen for him too, and even if he hadn’t exactly been sure about that, on some level he’d believed him, just because it was her sayin’ it.   
  
Right then, he noticed about three things at once:   
  
This was  _it_ , everything she’d tried to ever describe.   
  
This guy apparently at least sometimes went for other guys, but he was taken.   
  
Once he noticed the third thing, though, the other two took a backseat. From where his sleeves were pushed up Chris could see bruises on the inside of his arm, not perfectly finger shaped but just close enough that they  _had_  to be, and he felt his stomach turn.   
  
Somehow, he found his voice. “Maybe I’ll see you around then.”   
  
He shifted his grip, still holding onto the paper but just enough that he was loosely shaking Chris’ hand. “Jensen. And yeah, maybe.”   
  
Jensen. Well, he had a name.   
  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’   
  
Even if he’d wanted to forget Jensen(he didn’t), he  _couldn’t_  have. It was like he’d seeded down into Christian’s mind, quiet and unassuming but just  _there_. He had a dream about him, he knew, but when he woke up he couldn’t remember the details. He saw a girl with green eyes, and the thought flitted across the back of his mind that compared to Jensen’s, they weren’t all that stunning. He talked to his sister about a man she was maybe gonna start seeing, and then somehow he was talking about Jensen, and Jenny was just soaking it up.   
  
“So, did you get his number?”   
  
Chris laughed, kicked his boots up a little higher against the wall as he tilted his chair back, taking a slow sip of his beer before he answered. “Jenny, c’mon!”   
  
“No, I’m serious! Sounds like he was into you, you should have-“  
  
“He just said he thought he might like the music, that’s-“  
  
“Oh please. If you had time to be this into him, I know he had time to notice you.”   
  
Yeah, and he’d thought that. But he didn’t want to hope it. He  _couldn’t_  hope it, even if he felt stupidly like this whole thing had to work out for some crazy reason to do with his momma and first impressions and….God, this was gonna give him a damn migraine. “Yeah, well, you don’t exactly ask your emergency room doctor for their number. Looks kinda creepy.”   
  
She scoffed it off, and he heard her shifting the phone around, curling in closer. He could almost see how her eyes would be gleaming, already planning this for him. She loved any prospect of setting him up. “Well, when he comes to the show, you can get it then.”   
  
When. If. And even then… “Look, I’ll be honest, ok? I…it’s stupid, how much I liked this guy. But it’s…there’s nothin’, no chance there. There can’t be. He’s with somebody.”   
  
The bruises flashed into his mind again, and he shook it off, took another sip of his beer. More than likely, he’d been imaging things. He was drunk at the time, after all, and maybe his mind had just been looking for an out, a reason to hate this other guy Jensen was with. That had to be it, because if it wasn’t, him trying to write this off as a lost cause would be a hell of a lot harder.   
  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’  
It was two weeks before he saw him again, and that in itself was sooner than he’d ever expected. He’d hoped, but the part of it that tried in vain to be realistic(or maybe just pessimistic) kept insisting that there was no way Jensen’d ever turn up at all.   
  
But turn up he did, at the side near the bar, hovering next to a taller man with light hair and dark eyes. He looked bored, but Jensen, the way he smiled when he could tell Chris caught his eye…well, that was it. Right there, he was totally sold, beyond hope. He’d always been the romantic type…even the stupidly romantic type, really, not that he’d ever cared. He’d fallen in love probably more than his fair share already and lost them all, though there’d been the one woman he’d almost gotten back, the only one he  _wouldn’t_  take back if only because he knew she didn’t mean it. At that moment, though, the past didn’t particularly matter, because even with a history of losses included, it never stopped him from falling all over again.   
  
And besides, this was different. This had to be different.   
  
They played a good show, though it was the most distracted he’d been in ages. Somewhere in the middle of it he’d managed to lean over Steve’s shoulder, to whisper a “That’s him, over there by the bar, brown shirt” and that was all he’d needed to say. Steve had grinned, nodded a little while never breaking the lick he was tearing up on the guitar, and he’d seen Steve’s eyes following Jensen surreptitiously ever since. If Jenny cared about his relationships, it was nothin’ to how much Steve cared, but that was just Steve. He was the kind of guy who Chris had always said was just meant to be the perfect best friend for somebody, and he still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up damn lucky enough to be the one that got him.   
  
Afterward, after a brief trip backstage to settle the instruments and some of the equipment, he meandered his way back up front, trying not to look like he too obviously was headed right toward Jensen, though he didn’t take too much time getting over there.   
  
Jensen smiled at him again, and Chris reached out a hand to close the distance in a too brief handshake.   
  
“Wasn’t sure I’d see you here.”   
  
“Well, sounded like a show didn’t want to miss. You didn’t talk yourself up enough, though; you guys were great!”   
  
Christian’s eyes flickered down, still never quite sure what to say other than thank you when people said things like that. “Well, I appreciate it. It’s Steve mostly, he’s got such a way with the guitar that-“  
  
“And you’re still selling yourself short.” Mr. Tall and Bored was still behind him, and he picked just then to step up, one arm sliding around Jensen’s shoulders just casually enough that it should’ve belonged there. It was probably just the jealousy, but to Chris, it didn’t look like it did. Jensen looked over at him, gesturing between them. “Oh, this is Trent. Trent, this is-“  
  
“Christian Kane.” Chris held out his hand, shook Trent’s maybe just a little too tight. “Pleasure.” No. No, really, it wasn’t.   
  
“You gave a good show. Not really my kind of music, but Jensen seems to enjoy these things.”   
  
The hatred, it had to be stupid. It  _had_  to be. He took a deep breath, forced himself a little into a smile and tried to make some more effort. “What kind of music is it you listen to? I mean, with the kind of country we do I guess it still might be surprising but me and Steve, we both listen to a pretty big range.”   
  
He shrugged, and though he was still eyeing Christian he already seemed disinterested. “I’ve never really listened to much music at all, actually. Every now and then I’ll turn on the radio, but…”   
  
But he was one of  _those_ , which told Chris a lot right off the bat. He’d yet to meet someone yet that hated music and didn’t also disappoint him as a person. …but there was a first time for everything, and really, he had to get this guy off the chopping block in his head. He’d already told himself a hundred times that he had to have been wrong about Jensen’s arm, before. And besides, hell, in his line of work he could’ve been grabbed by a dying patient or something. This guy, he was probably great, and Chris didn’t stand a chance, not even at getting to know Jensen if he didn’t find a way to get along with Trent.   
  
He took a deep breath, yanked out a stool to sit down next to the two of them at the bar. “Can I get some Jack over here?” He was certainly going to need it, at least at first. Before the bartender could answer, he turned to the men beside him again. Trent’s arm was still around Jensen’s shoulders, and before he knew it Chris could feel his fingertips clench painfully against the woodgrain of the bar. “So…what do you do?”   
  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’   
  
It was like that, on and off for the next two or three months. Not every week, but they’d come, Trent always tagging along behind Jensen and Christian always meeting them at the bar to talk. Every time it was just a little easier and a whole lot harder at the same time, because the more they talked, the more he got to know Jensen. He was funny, with a great sense of humor. Soft spoken at first but more outgoing when you got to know him. He drank Jack or Crown and hated vodka. He loved dogs. He loved his family, and he still got back home to Texas whenever he could. He’d come out here to be an actor, and had somehow ended up in college instead. His ‘only’ doctor stereotype, in his own words, was the he played golf, but he felt he evened it out by never playing with other doctors. He was easy and being with him was comfortable and wonderful and Chris felt like he wasn’t sure how they hadn’t been talking like this all his life. That? That part was the part that was better.   
  
What was worse, bad enough to almost make the rest not worth it, was seeing him with Trent. And the ‘better’ things with him and Jensen got, the worse it was. He hated seeing him with another man, sure, but Jensen…he was different, when Trent spoke. There was still plenty there to make him uneasy, and even without it plain old jealousy would’ve been bad enough.   
  
Still, it was worth it, and he kept his nagging worries to himself, resolved to keep his damn mouth shut even to Steve unless he ever had reason to be sure it wasn’t all in his head. He’d have been grateful, really, if it had been, but on a Friday in January Jensen wasn’t there, even though he’d told him they’d be trying one of Steve’s new songs that night. When he made it the next week Chris could still make out the fading bruise on his cheek, and the accompanying anger that swelled in his chest was like nothing he’d ever felt in his life, and he’d been in enough fights to get himself in trouble ever since he’d been a kid.   
  
Trent was turned around, talking over a story from his work at the bank with the bartender, and he couldn’t keep quiet, not anymore, not now that he actually  _knew_  him, had a stake in this. Even if it was just as a friend. He took a shot of Jack, first, focused on the burn and not the words when he opened his mouth to speak.   
  
“It’s not right, you lettin’ him do this to you.” God, he hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, but this conversation just didn’t seem to be one he could plan, even last minute. Apparently, it was stream of consciousness or nothing.   
  
Jensen, he flinched, and though he tried to sound calm when he denied it Chris could hear the edge to his voice. “What are you-“  
  
“You know what I’m talkin’ about, I know you do.” Shit. He turned around, sideways on the stool to look him in the eye. “And I know. I know I’m right. Less you wanna tell me those bruises put themselves there?”   
  
“No, it was from work, I-“  
  
He slammed his empty shot glass down onto the counter, just barely tempering his force enough not to attract too much attention. “Dammit, Jensen, stop it, just…just stop it. Look, you don’t have to…you don’t have to say anything, alright? But I know. So don’t lie to me.”   
  
He swallowed, cut his eyes away and reached up to rake his fingers through his hair, the move hiding the bruise high on his cheek for just a minute. He didn’t say another word, hardly even seemed to still be breathin’, and even though Chris hadn’t thought he was looking for any more confirmation, that was it.   
  
Common sense told him he should’ve stopped there, but even though he was pretty good with common sense in most respects he ran short on it when it came to emotions. Or as his daddy’d always said, he had the temper of a wolf, all righteous fury when it came to anyone he’d come to care about.   
  
He gritted his teeth, spitting the words out under his breath. “ _Why_? C’mon, man, just give me one good fucking reason why you’re still-“  
  
“He’s not…” Jensen’s voice dropped, his eyes cutting back over his shoulder to make sure Trent was still engaged elsewhere, their conversation hid by the general noise of the bar and his current lack of attention. “He’s not all bad, ok? He’s just…got a temper. Look, it was my fault anyway, this stupid argument and I should’ve-“  
  
That, that was too much. There were a hundred things he wanted right then, everything from telling Jensen nothing like that could ever be his fault to pushing him up against the bar and kissing him stupid to beating the ever living shit out of the bastard beside him. He was fairly sure that just then that last one would’ve won out, so he pushed his stool back and got to his feet.   
  
“I gotta go. Guess I’ll see you next week.” It wasn’t enough, not hardly, but  _here_ , there just wasn’t anything else he could say. Just before he could step away Jensen’s hand shot out, closing warm around his wrist, and he froze, somewhere between shock and amazement and fear that Trent was going to turn around at just the wrong moment.   
  
The hazy dark of the bar usually hid it pretty well, but looking at him then in the faint glow of the lights, Christian could see the same weary exhaustion he’d seen that first night in the hospital, the dark shadows just under his eyes disturbingly close to the mark on his cheek. His eyes, though…there would’ve been no denying they looked tired but just then they were a little brighter, pleading.   
  
“Chris, I…” It stretched out, seconds of silence, Jensen’s grip tightening before he let go, his fingers sliding loosely away. A dozen statements could’ve come after that, and rather than torture himself trying to decide what they might’ve been, he walked away.   
  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’   
  
“I just don’t know what to do, momma. I really don’t.”   
  
He leaned back against the headboard, cell phone held loosely in one hand, his eyes studying the cracks in his crappy apartment ceiling. He’d just told her everything, from the hospital to walking out tonight, and the lump in his throat was telling him he’d about talked himself out on this particular subject. He’d told Steve first, backstage on the way home in the car, with nearly uncontrollable rage and language so bad he was glad he’d mostly run it out before he got home to call his momma. Steve had been mostly silent, smart enough to know that just then, Chris wasn’t ready for too much advice. He’d probably call back later when he knew Christian was ready to hear something, but right now Chris was hoping to God she’d have something to say, because if she asked him to explain anymore, he’d probably come up with nothin’.   
  
“Oh, baby…” He could hear her sigh, could hear the sound of the legs of her favorite chair scraping against the hardwood as she sat down. She’d be by the fire, old Bo curled up next to her on the quilt she’d made for him even when daddy’d said dogs didn’t need things like that. “Sometimes, you’ve gotta just ride things out.”   
  
He swallowed back the frustration that sparked in his chest, striking hot. Because seriously, what the hell  _had_  he been doing if not trying to ride it out? He’d tried first tellin’ himself maybe he’d never see Jensen again, and then he’d tried being his friend, and now…now he wasn’t so sure he could do that, but to him, that sounded like a lot of ‘riding it out’.   
  
“And don’t you start. Look, I’m not sayin’ you haven’t been trying, but if you’re serious about helping Jensen? Then what you need to have here is some  _patience_. You can’t make people see sense, Christian. And you beating up that man now won’t get you anywhere.”   
  
Shame. He’d been kind of hoping for that. On the other hand, it probably said something about him that even his  _mother_ was expecting a fight. He rubbed angrily at the bridge of his nose, tired his best not to sound too impatient when he spoke. “So what I do then, huh? Just…just see him every week and know this guy’s beating him to hell and pretend I don’t even care?”   
  
“No. No, you don’t do that.” She hesitated, thinking over her words. “I don’t know much about this boy, but playing the odds I’d say he hasn’t had too many people just be there for him, at least not in awhile. Sounds to me like he needs that more than anything right now. And if you do that? I think eventually, he’ll come around to you on his own. It’s like I was telling Brandon about that cat he found out by the-“  
  
He laughed, soft and amused. Trust his momma to say something like that. “He’s not a cat, momma.”   
  
She was laughing too, warm and easy. “Even so, the principle still stands. If something’s got a reason to be cautious, it’ll be cautious till it learns there’s someone that treats it different, and that always wins out.” She cleared her throat, and when she started up again he could hear the smile in her voice. “I did raise you to be a gentleman, didn’t I?”   
  
“Well, you sure tried. Pretty sure it didn’t take, though.”   
  
“ _Christian Michael Kane_.”   
  
“I gotta go, momma. Listen, thanks for…I’ll try.”   
  
Patience. Out of all the virtues he’d tried to have, that one he’d never spent much time cultivating.   
  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’  
If patience  _sounded_  hard, it was nothing to actually trying to have it. It was a constant battle, and it felt like 1 step up and about 5 back. He’d come in the next week, and Chris hadn’t apologized because he wasn’t sorry, but he  _hadn’t_  brought it up again. He’d just sat down and bought Jen and Trent both a drink, and they’d talked and he’d tried his best to make it a good night. God knows he tried, and so much of the time after that it seemed to work, but then Trent’d cut in and Jensen’d withdraw, the light draining out of his eyes. Those were the 5 steps back, because Chris (usually) couldn’t let himself leave then because he didn’t want to be obvious, but staying and not decking the man took nearly every last bit of his strength.   
  
Three weeks later, he made the colossal mistake of mentioning Jensen before a song, and though he could tell from the tension in Trent’s shoulders when he headed over to talk that it might have been one of his more stupid ideas, he didn’t know just how stupid until Jensen didn’t show the next week. Or the next.   
  
He was miserable, furious at himself for his own goddamn stupidity, and he felt about hours away from calling the cops and giving them what little information he  _did_  have when that next Thursday, Jensen showed up for the show.   
  
Alone.   
  
Kane had never cut a show short, not once, but one look at Steve was all it took for him to nod, and they shaved off the last song. He was flying through the motions after that, and he was just flipping the latches on his guitar case when he heard footsteps shuffling in the doorway, and he looked up to see Jensen.   
  
“Jesus  _Christ_.” Not the best welcome, but he couldn’t help it, really, he couldn’t. He looked thinner, and so tired he’d have blown away in a stiff wind. Still he smiled, hands crammed in his pockets.   
  
“Well, don’t get too excited. Thought for a minute you might be happy to see me but-“  
  
That didn’t even hardly cover it. The past few nights in particular had been hell, full of nightmares of seeing Jensen’s body on the fucking 11 o’clock news, and making light of it was just about the last thing he could take right then. Instead he got to his feet, and he pulled Jensen into a hug that felt as natural as breathing. It was instinct, pure and simple, and though for a split second he almost realized he probably shouldn’t have, Jensen’s arms came up around him to hold him tight, and he stopped caring.   
  
Jensen shivered, just a little, and even though the cold was seeping in through the back door Chris was pretty sure that had little to do with it. “You scared the hell outta me. I thought-“  
  
“I’m fine.” He pulled back then, trying to put a little more certainty into the words by meeting Chris’ eyes when he said them. Of course, it didn’t work. How could it, after that, looking the way he did now?   
  
Even that minimal contact had made him bolder, and Chris reached up and swiped his thumb over a healing split at the edge of Jensen’s lip. “Jensen, I’m so-“  
  
He didn’t even let him finish. His hands came up to frame Chris’ face, and he pulled him down for a soft kiss that barely lasted a heartbeat, though it was more than enough to properly and completely shut him up. Jensen stayed close, even afterward, his breath coming quick and nervous, and Chris didn’t even reach for him, too afraid to hold on.   
  
“It’s not your fault; you didn’t do anything wrong. He just overacted, and then I had to see you so tonight I just…” His grip tightened, thumb smoothing against the stubble near Christian’s jaw. “I can’t go home, right now. Tomorrow, maybe, but there’s gonna be another fight when I get home and I-”   
  
“Then you can stay with me.” His heart leapt, jackhammering in his throat, and if he’d been alone forget talking to himself, he’d have been  _cursing_  himself. It couldn’t be like that, not right now. He just needed a safe place to run, somewhere to stay, a good friend. Like his momma’d said…a gentlemen. Not that he felt like that right now, with Jensen’s thumb still moving lazily over his jaw, his lips still close enough that if he wanted he could’ve closed the distance and been kissing him again in less than a second.   
  
“I…” There was something nervous in the way his eyes flickered away, his voice dropping, but he hadn’t let go and to Chris, that was more telling. “I’m not sure I-“  
  
Right then, that was the time to tell him it was alright. They could talk a little, have a drink or two, and then Jensen could crash. He’d sleep on the couch, Jensen could take the bed, and that’d be it. It’d be easy and comfortable, and he’d be there for him. As a friend, just like he needed.   
  
Even if it had come out unorganized, some mix of that would’ve been exactly the right thing to say, without a doubt.   
  
What he  _did_ …well, he could never be accused of always having the best judgment. He cupped Jensen’s face in his hands, sudden certainty overriding the near inability to move he’d had since Jensen kissed him. it wasn’t much, still, just a sure, simple kiss, but it was more than enough. Jensen’s lips were warm against his, wiping his mind clear, and he jerked when a loud laugh from the direction of the stage warned him Steve and Jay were coming. At that point, he really  _didn’t_  think.   
  
The back door was close behind them, and he stepped back just enough to get a light grip on Jensen’s shirt instead, tugging him out after him into the biting cold of the ally. He pulled Jensen close and he came readily, their bodies fitting together just as the door clicked shut. They both shuddered, and he heard Jensen’s breath catch, his head ducking shyly to tuck in warm against Chris’ neck.   
  
It was one of those moments that Chris  _knew_  he’d remember for the rest of his life. He was in too deep, in over his head, and even if he lost Jensen someday,  _this_  this was something that’d be sticking with him. He could feel it, in everything from the way his heart jerked and pounded in his chest to the way their breath mingled in the cold, sharp puffs joining in the air between them, indistinguishable.   
  
Everything was easier, just then, simplified down to want and need and so much love for this crazy man in his arms he thought his heart might break with it. He’d been through that, before. Hell, he and Steve had joked before that heartbreak was practically a prerequisite for their line of work, but with Jensen, well, he wasn’t sure even  _he_  could ever find the right words or the right chords, but it was different. They were different.   
  
His hands slid up under Jensen’s shirt, both of them gasping as icy, calloused fingers met warm, soft skin. Just a touch, the slightest movement and Jensen jerked forward against him, his breath catching as hips thrust once against Chris before he forced himself to still. Chris could feel it, the way he was holding back, the tension in his muscles, a lingering quiver. He was reminded suddenly of his father’s old horse when they’d first gotten her, whip shy and jumpy, and he stroked his thumbs against the edge of Jensen’s ribs as he nuzzled in close, lips pressed just below his ear.   
  
“It’s alright. It’s alright.”   
  
“I shouldn’t-“  
  
His stomach twisted, and Chris turned his head to kiss him. They weren’t talking about that bastard, not tonight, not when Jensen had come out to the show and stayed, not after they’d kissed, not now that he finally had him right there, Jensen’s warm chest pressed up against his. He’d believed a lot of things over the course of his life, and maybe before he’d have said he’d never be an accessory to infidelity, but now, he saw everything different. This thing was  _right_ , between them. Things with Trent were wrong, and it really was just that simple. Right and wrong, him or Chris.   
  
His mouth fit easily over Jensen’s, silencing him, and though there was a heartbeat where he didn’t respond he opened to him, responding eagerly when Chris tilted his head back to get just a little deeper. Jensen didn’t taste like alcohol but something else, something different and so very  _Jensen_. He was making these little noises at the back of his throat, soft and low and greedy and like he’d never been properly kissed in his life, and while that thought hurt, there was more than a little pride flaring in his chest at the thought that with just a kiss, he could do  _this_.   
  
He eased back to let Jensen take a breath, focused on the feel of it against his skin as he nuzzled against him, a scrape of stubble that he soothed as he sucked lightly at the line of Jensen’s jaw. God, but he was beautiful. Jensen’s breath hitched, his hands tightening convulsively on the back of Christian’s shirt as he hauled him closer.   
  
“ _Chris_.” It was raw, real enough to jar him. However much he want to, he  _couldn’t_  do this. Not now, not like this. He swore softly, licked his lips and tasted Jensen before he pulled back. He shifted, palms pressing against rough brick as he looked into Jensen’s eyes, pupils wide with the thinnest ring of mesmerizing green, still bright even in the low light.   
  
“ ‘M sorry. I…” Jensen was about to contradict him, he could tell, so changed the subject, pushing himself just a little farther away to add some distance. “We should…” The rest of it dried up into nothing on his tongue, and he took a deep breath, his fingers brushing against Jensen’s neck as he stepped back. Already, he missed his warmth. “C’mon. Let’s go.”  
  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’   
  
Christian sat his glass down as quietly as he could on the kitchen table, the sound still echoing to his own ears in the silence. He’d been sure that for safety’s sake, asking Jensen to come home with him had been the right thing. Of course, the problems with that that he hadn’t wanted to admit at the time lay in the facts that he had other reasons, ones it was impossible to completely extricate.   
  
He’d cooked dinner for them. Spaghetti, and it had felt good to be cooking for someone else again. Granted, he cooked for Steve sometimes but Steve, he was family, and this was different. It’d been late when they finished, and he’d shown Jensen upstairs to offer him his room. And some sweats, because it wasn’t like he had anything with him.   
  
So Jensen was staying at his house, sleeping in his bed and wearing his clothes and even though one of those things would have likely been enough to drive him insane, all together they were maddening. He’d come back down here, cleaned up from dinner as slowly as he possibly could, and he’d haphazardly tried to make a bed on the sofa before he admitted defeated and slunk back into the kitchen to fetch himself a glass and some whiskey.   
  
 _Fuck_. Jensen had  _thanked_  him before he came downstairs. As if he’d done anything special, anything worth praising when all he could think about was how  _right_  Jensen looked leaning on the doorframe to his room. Even if, even  _if_  he somehow decided to leave Trent now, that wouldn’t mean Jensen’d be ready to…to what, move in here? Even  _he_  wasn’t ready for that. More simple than that, though, Jensen wouldn’t be ready for a relationship yet; he couldn’t be. He needed…time, or whatever it was psychologists usually said about that sort of thing. Time to digest or break the cycle or what the fuck ever. He wasn’t really up on how these things went, though if he had to be honest he’d googled it a few times since he’d known Jensen. He needed to get free of everything, Trent and whatever it was that had gotten him in that mess in the first place, just shake it off and be himself and…  
  
And even then, Chris was still picturing himself coming more prominently into the picture. Shit, this was supposed to be about  _Jensen_ , not about him, but apparently he couldn’t even be unselfish enough to-  
  
“Wouldn’t mind sharing a little bit of that, would you?” Jensen’s voice came from just behind him, back at the kitchen doorway, and he sounded weary but not sleepy, as if he hadn’t slept at all. Going on four in the morning, and neither of them had probably slept a wink.   
  
He nodded, jerked his head back over his shoulder with a quickly thrown up smile. “Yeah. Get you a glass, right up there in the second cupboard from the left.” The creak of a squeaky hinge he kept forgetting to fix, the soft tinkle of glass and then Jensen was scraping out a chair to sit across from him, settling his own glass down next to the bottle and waiting for Christian to pour. He did, giving himself just a little extra but sipping his first drink down quick.   
  
“Couldn’t sleep either, huh?” He tried for casual, but he wasn’t sure the smile was reaching his eyes.   
  
Jensen shook his head, eyes downcast to study the way his fingers turned the glass on the table. He hadn’t even raised it to his lips yet. There was something in his silence, and Christian waited it out, let him sort his words before he spoke.   
  
“I met Trent when I was in residency.”  _Oh_. Right. Well, now really had to be as good a time as any for talking about him. It was weird to think it with as much as he’d had to see the son of a bitch but he and Jensen had never really  _talked_  about him, not other than that once. Jensen licked his lips, titled the glass but sat it back down without even fully lifting it off the table. “I just…look, I get that this sounds stupid, but he wasn’t always like this.”   
  
“I-“  
  
“I mean, you think I don’t know how I sound? And, Chris, it’s not just you, it’s-“ He shook his head, looked to be somewhere between backpedaling and trying to push forward. “I know how people have to look at me, cause I mean bein’ in their same shoes a few years ago, I’d have done the same. I mean, there was this girl in high school and I can remember tellin’ my brother, ‘Look at that idiot, I can’t believe she doesn’t see what’s goin’ on.’. I mean, I know how it looks and how people talk but…” There, he managed to take a drink. Just a little, and he was slow to lower the glass from his lips, stalling the words. “We were in love, you know? And that’s…that’s gotta mean something.”   
  
“Sure it does.” He took a deep breath, leaned forward against the table with both arms. Fuck, this had to be all or nothing, because that patience he’d tried to have had just about run its course. Wondering what the hell could have happened to Jensen had drivin’ him more than a little crazy, and his ability to talk about Trent with anything less than open venom was pretty much nonexistent. He ducked his head a little to meet Jensen’s eyes, trying to convey the serious weight to his words just a little more. “But if you love somebody? You don’t treat ‘em like  _that_. Not ever.”   
  
It was instant, the way he looked away, shifting uncomfortably from what he had to know was the truth. “He doesn’t really mean…I mean, he’s got-“  
  
“Oh believe me, I’ve got such a sorry temper I think my daddy was ready for them to lock me up and throw away the key the number of fights I got into as a teenager, but I have  _never_  even thought of raisin’ a hand to someone I was with. That’s not…that’s not  _temper_ , Jensen, it’s-“  
  
“I can’t…I can’t just leave him, I-“  
  
“Do you love him?”   
  
 _That_  got his attention. He jerked, twitching away like the words themselves were a blow. “Christian,-“   
  
“I’m not askin’ you anything else, here, it’s just that one simple question. Not if you did, not about anything that happened before…now, do you love him?” Jensen swallowed hard, he could see the muscles in his throat constricting and Christian’s heart beat just a little faster. Dammit, he couldn’t help but hope.   
  
Finally, his fingers tightening convulsively around his glass, Jensen shook his head once. There was nothing more, no words to follow it, nothing but a quick drink before he looked up, their gaze locking. No, he didn’t love him. But he didn’t necessarily want to talk about not loving him, either.   
  
“ ‘s that what you wanted to know?” Whisper soft, rasping out as if he couldn’t quite get his throat to work. No matter that it’d been working fine just minutes before.   
  
Before he could even decide how the fuck to answer, Christian was already shaking his head. No, it wasn’t all he wanted to know. He wanted to know if he’d do it, leave him. He wanted to know if he really saw anything between them, if it was worth a shot or…  
  
He raked his hands through his hair, sat a little farther forward and closed his fingers around Jensen’s wrist as he poured slowly into the glass Jensen was still holding. Under his fingers he could feel his pulse quicken, and even when he was finished pouring he didn’t let go. When he spoke, he said it more to the table than actually to Jensen. “This….this is a bad idea.”   
  
“Seemed like a good one earlier.” There was a little bit of false bravado there, it seemed, and  _that_ , that was exactly why now wasn’t the time. Still in love with him or not, Jensen wasn’t ready, he wasn’t…he wans’t  _there_  yet.   
  
Christian tried to let go, willing his fingers to peel themselves away from Jensen’s skin. “I didn’t bring you here to…” Fuck, he could feel himself blushing like a damn kid. “Jen, I didn’t…” Goddammit. He cleared his throat,  _finally_  pulled his hand away slow only to find that Jensen caught it, holding on. “I’m not askin’ for anything, here.” And really, he’s not. But the silence that follows is heavy with the hint of more to come, and finally he realizes that if he doesn’t go ahead and spit it out, it’s gonna keep eating at him. “Look, I’m not gonna lie. I  _wish_  that we could...that we could give things a shot. And…and I guess I need you to know that if  _you_  decide you want that, I’m there, but either way, that’s not the point, really. Point is whether or not you’re happy, and you’re not.”  _And it’s not right._  This whole thing reminded him far too much why he hated talking about things.   
  
Jensen shifted the glass to his other hand, the grip on Christian’s fingers still maintained with his right as he took a drink, took the time to look out the blackness on the other side of the window before he took another. After a time span that felt a little like several lifetimes, he answered.   
  
“I think…you’re right.” For the first time since they’d started talking about the whole damn mess, a ghost of a real smile tugged at his lips. “We should give it a try.”   
  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’   
  
After that, there’s a few things to take care of.   
  
There’s Jensen telling Trent, and that one he does on his own, despite Christian’s damn near pleas that he go with him in case it doesn’t go over well. Thank God he does it quick and gets the hell out, because somehow it’d have been even worse if Trent hurt him then.   
  
As it is, Chris plans to give it a couple of days and go over there anyway, because his reasons for not beating the man into a bloody pulp have evaporated. He’s saved the trouble, however, because Trent comes to the bar looking for him, already ready for a fight on his own accord. Which suits him just as well, because it looks even better for him that he didn’t start it. Especially if he ends up having to explain it to Jensen, which he seriously hopes he doesn’t. He comes out of it with a few minor cuts and bruises and one slightly nasty one from a scrape against the brick out in the ally, and he’s pretty sure Jen knows but he doesn’t ask. It’s just as well. It was something he had to get out of his system, and Jensen asking him not to would’ve just made him feel guilty when it happened someday anyway.   
  
There’s something so damn satisfying about feeling his fist connect with Trent’s jaw, a fierce, vindictive pleasure at ending up with some of the man’s blood on his hands. He’d have been willing to bet his momma would’ve said it wasn’t right, that he should’ve moved on. ‘Vengeance is mine, says the Lord’, all of that. He’s always believed in God, but he wonders a little if he might be going to hell, because it feels too damn good to repent from. He’s standing up for the man he loves, and that’s not something for which he’ll ever be ashamed.   
  
As for Jensen, he moves in with Steve, at first. Steve’s got a guest room he’s not using and with how much money the band  _doesn’t_  make he could always use the help with rent. They’d talked at first about Jensen staying with him, just until he could find a new apartment but they both realized in the end that even if that wouldn’t take that long, their self control isn’t that good, and they can’t risk it. It can’t be too soon, too rushed, not any of it, because this isn’t some trivial thing. It needs to be real and it needs to last, and they have to be willing to sacrifice a little something for that. So there’s Steve, who was more than happy to have him and used the time to get to know who he tells Christian has to be “my future brother in law.” He’s teasing when he says it, but it actually sounds pretty damn good.   
  
Their first time…well, it’s isn’t really a first time. Not in the strictest sense. It’s not straight up sex, but it’s better than anything Christian’s ever had, and that just adds another tick mark in his head to the list of reasons why he knows he’s never gonna need anybody else.   
  
It’s after dinner one night in Jensen’s new apartment kitchen, and at first they’re backed up against the refrigerator, Jensen pinned between him and the door. They kiss like they’ve got forever, thorough and deep with plenty of tongue and teeth and soft moans Chris wishes he could record and save just for himself. It’s enough until he bites down on Jensen’s neck and he whines, an eager, hungry sound that goes straight to his cock, and Jensen’s rutting against his thigh like he could come off that alone, and suddenly Chris decides that yeah ok, Jen’s more than ready.  _They’re_  more than ready.   
  
He drops to his knees on slightly sticky linoleum, nuzzling against the front of his jeans first until Jensen’s fingers start to tug at his hair, insistent. He smiles, presses a kiss over Jensen’s strained zipper, murmurs “ Hold on, darlin’.”, then chuckles at the way Jensen’s hips buck against him. From there it’s quicker, more urgent, and he only yanks Jensen’s jeans and pants down around his thighs to give himself access. Jensen’s cock jerks when he licks his lips and he has to rub at the front of his own jeans with the heel of his hand because  _fuck_  if that isn’t hot as hell.   
  
He takes him slow, suckling teasingly at the head first until Jensen writhed and he had to reach up with one strong arm and pin his hips back against the door. He jerks for a different reason then, muttering about the cold, and Chris calls him a pansy but it falls affectionate from his lips, gentle hands pulling Jensen’s hips forward enough for Chris to brace an arm against the cold door behind him, shielding his ass mostly from the chill. He can’t control Jensen’s thrusts like that but he doesn’t really try to, just widens his mouth and takes him in as well as he can, lets Jen thrust shallow into his mouth until he can see Jensen’s muscles quiver as he gets close.   
  
He slides a finger in his mouth then along with Jensen’s cock, just enough to get it slick. He reaches back, rubs just the pad of his finger across tight muscle, and that’s all it takes. Jensen jerks and comes, crying out as he tries desperately to both thrust forward and push back to actually get some part of his finger  _in_.   
  
That, though, will have to wait. For the time being Chris practically rips open his own jeans, jerks himself off quick and leans against Jensen’s thigh to come down, panting a little against the soft skin there on the inside. Jensen’s hands stroke him, over the top of his head, through his hair, against his cheek. His touch is so different from nearly every guy Christian’s ever dated, his hands soft and uncalloused and when he looks up, he still feels he could damn near drown in those eyes.   
  
Doing anything  _but_  drowning just then…yeah, it can wait. They’ve got the time. 


End file.
